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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29065701">The Name's Fox (Henry Fox)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sconelover/pseuds/sconelover'>sconelover</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Red White &amp; Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Spies &amp; Secret Agents, Henry being the Bond offspring he was meant to be, M/M, Rivals to Lovers, Spies &amp; Secret Agents, The Red Room, spy AU</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 08:47:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,173</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29065701</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sconelover/pseuds/sconelover</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Alex is the best agent in the field, and he knows it. Tonight, his mission is catching an assassin at a White House state dinner. There's just one constant thorn in his side—Agent Henry Fox. Inevitably, they run into each other on every job... and tonight's no different.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>103</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Name's Fox (Henry Fox)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/twokisses/gifts">twokisses</a>.</li>


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/21722092">The Name's Snow (Simon Snow)</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/twokisses/pseuds/twokisses">twokisses</a>.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A fandom-swap remix of the lovely May's fic. Thank you for letting me turn this into Firstprince ❤️ I was going to gift this to you as a surprise before I decided I wanted you to beta it—so happy late birthday, as well ❤️ </p><p>Big thanks to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/cmere/pseuds/cmere">cmere</a> for beta reading!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Alex loves dressing up for work. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s comfortable anywhere, of course—he can fit in just as easily at a Texas cookout, college football game, or hawker’s market—but he feels the most confident this way. His suit is anything but classic, though. It’s filled with hidden panels and pockets, made of a special breathable, flexible material, and the vest is bulletproof.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It helps him act the part. Turn on the charm, even though he knows he doesn’t really need help in that department.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you in?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s Nora in his ear. She’s been his handler since the beginning of time; he can’t imagine anyone else doing it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” he whispers. He walks through the grand hall as confidently as possible and presents himself to the security guard at the entrance to the dining room. The guard crosschecks his pre-planted photo and pseudonym, runs a metal detector around his body, then waves him in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s as easy as that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He enters the White House Dining Room with a swagger in his step.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The event: an important state dinner featuring the entire first family and half the British royal family, plus a busload of various other influential and governmental figures.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His false identity: a young Panamanian diplomat, the son of the ambassador. The ambassador in fact declined the invitation and doesn’t have a son, but nobody needs to know that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The mission: find the hidden assassin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He saunters through the room, creating a winding path to the bar. It’ll be odd if he starts mingling without a drink in his hand, and he does intend to mingle—by the end of the night, he’ll have interviewed everyone in the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That is, if no one gets in his way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex can respect a well-planned cocktail hour, and this one has been designed for maximum interaction—it’s a diplomatic event, after all. The drinks are flowing, but not too strong, and servers circle every fifteen minutes or so with a new canapé.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He orders a whiskey neat and begins his rounds. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nora’s voice crackles to life in his ear while he’s chatting with a pretty young heiress of some small European country (Liechtenstein? Lithuania?). “I don’t even have a single lead,” she complains. “There’s no intel on this guy. Or girl.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex politely excuses himself from the conversation and walks a short distance away, raising his glass to his lips so no one can see him talking to himself. “Nothing at all?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We think they’re working with a group or syndicate or something, not just an individual with a gun, you know?” Nora says. “Be on the lookout for someone who might be talking to themselves.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can almost hear Nora’s eye roll. “Or someone who maybe had trouble getting through security, if they had a gun.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like me,” Alex says again, cheekier this time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alex! You know what I mean.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s Rafael, tonight,” he says with a smirk, and Nora huffs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just look for anyone suspicious,” she says. “You know the signs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex scans the room, maintaining his best “casual partygoer” face. He takes another long drag of his whiskey before his eyes alight on—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like </span>
  <em>
    <span>him?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who?” Nora asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck, you know who.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He weaves his way through the party again, pretending to ignore the eyes he can feel on him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Deep blue eyes in a stupidly perfect face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Agent Henry Fox is lounging on a barstool, his image impeccable as always. Sandy blond hair, sharp jaw, crisply tailored navy suit. He holds a gin and tonic, his signature drink, in one elegant hand adorned with a heavy gold ring on the little finger. That isn’t usually there—Alex wonders if it’s part of his disguise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks languid, surveying the party with a politely half-interested expression, like he has somewhere else to be. He manages to look bored, which Alex finds, frankly, obnoxious. Like, this is a life-or-death mission; he could at least </span>
  <em>
    <span>try</span>
  </em>
  <span> to have some urgency. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But his utter lack of it is what makes Fox such a good spy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> doing here?” Nora hisses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m wondering the same thing,” Alex mutters. He forces a grin as the Mexican ambassador approaches, noticing his name tag with the Panamanian flag on it. The woman offers him a friendly hug, and Alex returns her rapid-fire greeting in perfect Panamanian Spanish.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Between occasionally interjecting something useful into his conversation with Ms. Bárcena, he’s fuming.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He keeps sneaking glances at Henry, but nothing gives. He looks ridiculously put-together, as always, like a cardboard cutout of a person. Alex bets he’s posing as some minor, bland member of the British royal family—no one would question it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Alex is pissed, because this job is supposed to be an American one. Yeah, the Brits are here, but that doesn’t mean the assassin is here for </span>
  <em>
    <span>them. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>This means one of two things.</span>
</p><p>
  <span><em>“¿Y cómo está tu familia?” </em>Martha asks, interrupting his thoughts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex tells Martha a couple vague lies in Spanish about how his father the Panamanian Ambassador is doing, then seamlessly transitions the topic to let her speak more about herself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Meanwhile, Nora whispers fiercely in his ear. She’s a few steps ahead of him, as usual. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One: the White House security team didn’t trust our agency to get the job done.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That blows. And it’s bullshit—his agency is reputable as fuck. They’re home-grown, all-American, bred on Texas soil and patriotic to a fault. There’s no one better to protect the First Family and sniff out this assassin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or two,” Nora says, “someone </span>
  <em>
    <span>else</span>
  </em>
  <span> got a tip on the assassin, and they hired Fox separately.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That theory is the more likely one. The royal family, maybe? They’ve always worked closely with Henry’s agency. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex excuses himself under the pretense of needing another drink and starts another casual circle of the room. “I can’t believe he’s here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not the wild card you think it is, Alex.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But </span>
  <em>
    <span>him—</span>
  </em>
  <span>specifically!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nora heaves a sigh. “Just focus on the job, please? We can discuss how much you want Fox to dick you down </span>
  <em>
    <span>later, </span>
  </em>
  <span>at HQ.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want—” Alex sputters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The job!” Nora snaps, and he decides not to push it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he’s distracted, and he knows it. His blood is boiling at the sight of Henry, every nerve ending alight. He’s always had unexpectedly strong emotions around Agent Fox, ever since the first time they met.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He keeps one eye on Henry as he trails the room, waiting for him to notice. He wants to see if Henry is as shocked as he was at them both being here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But when he draws near the bar, Henry’s eyes cut directly to him, no hint of surprise on his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He already knew Alex was here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His gaze is cool and sharp. The corner of his mouth, the one that pinches when he’s nervous, draws up in a smirk. He takes a sip of his drink, sucking lime juice off his thumb, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck, </span>
  </em>
  <span>it makes Alex’s face heat up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He used to think it was hatred. And it still is, honestly, a little.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mostly Alex is pissed that Henry is better at the job than him. And that someone </span>
  <em>
    <span>else</span>
  </em>
  <span> thought he could do better. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not fair, because they’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>equals—they’re really not. Alex is all charisma and genius and smirking wit; Henry is placid smiles and gentle chivalry. Alex can admit that the combination of traits, the bland genericism Henry is able to play at, makes him a good agent, but he and Alex are cut out for completely different missions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somehow, they always manage to get put on the same ones. It’s like their agencies </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> them to have a rivalry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He raises his glass to Henry as he passes by. It’s an acknowledgement and a challenge.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>May the best man win.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Henry whispers something under his breath as Alex walks away, and he knows Henry must be talking to Pez, his handler. Alex sweeps the room again, wondering what Henry knows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Secret Service is stationed near the back, but it’ll look suspicious if he goes over to them, and anyway they’re supposed to have been filled in about his presence here. He nods to Amy and Cash—two of the agents he’s worked with before during government jobs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alex,” Nora says suddenly, her voice filled with urgency, “we got a tip. Someone who was added last-minute to the list—we’re trying to get eyes now—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sets his drink down on a high-top table, but people are shuffling to eat dinner and it’ll look suspicious if he stays standing now. He reluctantly takes his seat at a table with a Russian diplomat, a minor bishop, and a few Congresspeople. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>While dinner passes smoothly enough, Nora tells him what they know, and he’s up and out of his seat the moment he’s able to leave. “South door,” she says, and he watches the door gently swing shut, someone’s coattails disappearing with a swoosh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t go in there, you need security clearance,” Nora says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s already walking over, putting on a “lost” act so that he can ask for the restroom in case anyone stops him. “Well, get it!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rapid typing echoes on the other end. “Working on it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>From the corner of his eye, he sees Henry approaching. He must have gotten the same tip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nora stops abruptly, the sound crackling out as she presumably takes a call from someone else. She’s back online a second later. “False alarm, Alex.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He alters his course smoothly to head for the actual restrooms. “Really?” he hisses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, sorry, it was just one of the princes of England… apparently he’s hooking up with someone in the White House.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex rolls his eyes as he enters the restroom. It’s gilded, for some reason, just as fancy as the rest of the White House. “Are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>serious?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Nora cackles. “Yep,” she says, popping the </span>
  <em>
    <span>p. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Can’t wait for it to become an international scandal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re devious.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>right.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex fixes his hair in the mirror, gives his reflection a wink, and leaves. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay—real assassin,” Nora says. “Your best chance is at after-dinner cocktails, because everyone will be herded into the Red Room.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Henry Fox is waiting for him outside the restrooms, pretending to be admiring a painting in the grand hallway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex smiles genially at him. “Got the same false lead, huh, Fox?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Henry smiles back, just as placidly. “How did you guess?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The mask falls as soon as they’re out of sight of the bathrooms. Henry groans, mussing his hair. One of the perfect strands comes loose and falls across his cheekbone. “I just don’t understand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me nei–”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not you,” Henry snaps. “Yes, I’m still here, Pez. Just ran into—” His eyes cut over to Alex. “—someone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Henry rolls his eyes massively at whatever Pez has said on the other end. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Focus!” Nora nearly yells in Alex’s ear. He winces. “Get to the Red Room, </span>
  <em>
    <span>now.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine, I’m going,” Henry says, and Alex jolts for a minute before he realizes that Pez must have said something similar. They fall into step hesitantly, walking in the same direction, back through the dining room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a group of people to their right, starting to mingle after finishing dinner. Alex throws his head back in false laughter. “At least pretend you like me, Fox.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Henry only spares a moment’s hesitation before he smiles handsomely. They wind their way to the Red Room, pretending to be lost in conversation as they pass an ornamental display of chocolates and a tower of profiteroles. No one pays them any attention; they’re just two normal partygoers, enjoying each others’ company.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Amy is guarding the Red Room. “Sorry, no guests can go in yet,” she says by reflex, before noticing who they are. “Oh. Agent Fox. Agent Diaz.” She nods. “Holleran and Okonjo filled me in. You have five minutes before the guests arrive.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, Amy,” Alex says, flashing her a smile, and they slip into the empty room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then they’re standing there, empty room around them, empty air between them. Seconds pass—dangerous seconds. Any moment they’re together in the same room, alone, is dangerous.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Henry turns away briefly, muttering something to Pez. Alex knows what it is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nora,” he says, “you have eyes on the Dining Room, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ping me in five,” he says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Henry’s eyes flick over to his, and it’s electric. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>kidding?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Nora groans. “Don’t tell me you’re back on your bullshit—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Henry’s smiling now, murmuring into his own collar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not apologizing,” Alex says, holding eye contact with Henry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t expect you to,” Nora answers. She huffs, knowing she can’t win, and Alex grins. “I ping you, you answer </span>
  <em>
    <span>immediately. </span>
  </em>
  <span>There will be people here in five min—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Got it, thanks!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex mutes his earpiece, and Henry does the same. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Henry’s tie is wrapped in his fist in a flash, sharp blue eyes meeting his. His suit is smooth, elegant. Alex wants to rip it off, but he’ll settle for the way it wrinkles as he shoves Henry against the nearest wall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We have to stop meeting like this, sweetheart,” Alex murmurs. Henry just raises an amused eyebrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He crushes their mouths together, </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It’s messy and desperate and perfect. He slides his hands into Henry’s silky hair, and one of Henry’s broad hands comes up to cup the back of his neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He kisses Henry until he can’t breathe, and then kisses him some more. When they break away, Henry says, breathlessly, “I didn’t know you’d be here today.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex doesn’t have any interest in talking. He only has five minutes, and he intends to use them properly. He kisses Henry again, moving against him. He loves making Henry moan, loves making him lose that composure he’s so known for in their world.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Right now, they don’t have to be Rafael Luna and William Windsor. They’re not even Agent Diaz and Agent Fox. Here, in these hushed stolen moments, they can just be Alex and Henry—Alex and Henry who are desperately into each other, behind closed doors only.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex shoves his fingers through Henry’s belt loops and pulls their bodies closer, flush. He needs </span>
  <em>
    <span>more, </span>
  </em>
  <span>more of this, before their too-short time is up once again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Henry likes to call it a </span>
  <em>
    <span>mistake. </span>
  </em>
  <span>A serendipitous one, he always says. Alex prefers to call it an </span>
  <em>
    <span>epic</span>
  </em>
  <span> one. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Henry pulls back again. “But why </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> you here? They said—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Later,” Alex hisses, and in one frantic motion, he pushes Henry onto the table next to them so he’s sitting with his back against a large portrait of Alexander Hamilton. He shoves himself between Henry’s legs, wrenches him into another searing kiss. It’s rough, white-hot, better than he imagined—it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>always</span>
  </em>
  <span> better than he imagines.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Henry stops them again. “I’ve missed you,” he says, and that finally makes Alex pull back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes in Henry’s face, his eyes bottomless and no longer so cutting, his hair falling across his forehead, his brow creasing so endearingly. The look on his face makes Alex’s chest ache. Because as high as he feels when he’s with Henry, it also reminds him of what he can’t really have.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, baby,” he says, and he hears Henry’s breath hitch at the term of endearment. “I’ve missed you too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s futile, but I wish…” Henry’s voice breaks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t have to finish the sentence. Alex knows what he’s going to say, because they’ve said it so many times before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey.” Alex tips Henry’s chin up and attempts a smile. “It’s kind of fun, tiptoeing around. Star-crossed lovers and all that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wishes, more than anything, that they didn’t have to be a secret. That they could have moments together outside ones like these—that their only time together wasn’t stolen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rival agencies aren’t exactly Pyramus and Thisbe,” Henry points out, ever the pretentious scholar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex kisses him again, knowing they’re almost out of time. It’s sweeter this time, deeper. It hints at something that feels like more than they both let on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One day, us too,” he whispers into Henry’s mouth. He feels Henry smile against him. “We’ll run away, or something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Off to St. Kilda?” Henry says, teasing. “Where you’ll feed me profiteroles and we’ll make love endlessly until we both expire in a haze of chocolate sauce?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s how I wanna go out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex tugs Henry closer, pulling him flush, and he feels like </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> is how he might go out—he feels crazy with it. Henry groans and leans into it, more urgently now. He hooks one strong knee around the back of Alex’s thigh, his earlier composure nowhere to be found.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex runs his hands up Henry’s chest, presses palms into his thighs, inching upwards. Henry’s hips push up into his, and Alex groans and swears and praises him with every renewed kiss. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s electric, and he feels more alive than ever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He always comes alive under Henry’s touch. Among all the lying and espionage, it’s the only time he truly feels like himself—truly feels known. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Incoming!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s Amy. She raps on the door just as Alex’s earpiece beeps. He falls back on his heels, and Henry blinks at him for a split second before engaging his own earpiece as well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They can hear voices outside, too close for comfort.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck,” Alex says, taking in Henry’s disheveled appearance. Henry smirks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They fix each other up efficiently, with quick motions practiced a thousand times—shirts tucked in, buttons redone, ties smoothed out. Henry flips open a tiny comb and runs it through his hair while humming “God Save the Queen,” an occurrence so frequent that Alex now seems to have some sort of Pavlovian response to the song as well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alex, come in,” Nora says in his ear. “I have a lead. You’re looking for a woman in her thirties…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hold that thought,” he tells her. She huffs as he mutes his earpiece again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Henry faces him, looking perfectly dignified, not even an eyebrow hair out of place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ready?” Alex asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Henry holds his gaze. “I’ll see you, then?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex feels a tug somewhere in his gut, that gravitational pull. “Check your pocket, Fox.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s rare Alex gets an overnight stay during a mission—but he has the day off tomorrow, to visit his mom in D.C. Henry doesn’t even seem surprised that Alex managed to slip him the key. He slides it out of his pocket, flipping it over between elegant fingers to read the hotel name. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My flight’s at three,” he says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex crowds up in his space again, twisting Henry’s tie in his hand. “Are you gonna meet me there, or not?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll meet you.” Henry smiles that heartbreaker’s smile at him, brushing a finger against Alex’s cheek so tenderly it makes his throat ache. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he steps away, cool and distant once again just as the doors to the Red Room crack open and the crowd floods in. </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
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